Letting go with taking action on TDoV/A

"I had never done an acrylic pour before. We had to wait for the right season and the right weather, as this is done outside. Finally, we had the right day. I was handed the two small square canvases, and Rae explained the process. I picked colors I liked and had no idea what it would look like or what I expected. I was able to add some silicon bubbles after the pour to break up areas that felt too heavy or dark. I then had to wait a fortnight until I could see the final product. Rae asked if I wanted to write a statement, and I said I would take the paintings with me through the week and see what came to me. So I did.

I showed my work to friends. Some of them commented on what shapes they could see in the abstract forms, like reading clouds. It was interesting to hear about the different creatures, love hearts, and landscapes that different folks saw, especially when we noticed the same things. Others wanted to know how effective art therapy is. "Does it work?" was a common question.

Then the paintings sat on a shelf on display for a bit. I enjoyed looking at them from different angles—upside down, right side up, all sides up and down. I still didn't know what to say about them.

Now, as I reflect on Trans Day of Action (& Visibility), I see how these paintings represent a letting go of direct meaning, an effective and equal input of intent and output of meaning. Everyone thought something different about my work. That was out of my control. This led me to a reflection on motherhood and parenthood, especially in mothering and letting go of expectations and my dear lost Rue.

At some point, while I was pregnant with Rue, I read in a pregnancy book that motherhood was all about letting go. I've certainly found this to be not only true but also one of the biggest challenges of parenting, especially when parenting a neurodivergent and gender-diverse child. At every stage of motherhood, we must walk the tightrope of keeping our children safe and letting them go. When pregnant, the birthing parent is physiologically connected to the fetus as it develops. As long as there are no genetic or hereditary issues and the birthing parent chooses the safest behaviors and nutrition during pregnancy, the care of the fetus is automatic. This integration between the mother and developing fetus is unique and unparalleled by any other relationship, except maybe in the case of conjoined twins. Therefore, birth is the extraordinary moment when we first experience letting go. It's quite a process and an abrupt one after gestating autonomously. Once born, there is then an abrupt rupture; a surgical separation occurs when the umbilical cord is cut. Then we bond over nursing our newborns, whether it’s by breast or bottle; our care is intense and around the clock. Our lives and days are framed by the needs of our dependent infant. As they develop, they begin to move on their own, talk to people, run, jump, and play. There are plenty of conflicts with their peers, and we cannot always save them. We are constantly looking for ways to support them in becoming independent. They go to childcare, then to school. They form relationships outside of the family, and eventually, we hope for them to find their way to higher education, jobs, and perhaps even start their own family. In my case, it's the ultimate letting go, as my child is no longer in the world.

It's a hard line to walk, this letting go; it's especially hard when your child is struggling to be where they "should" be in terms of development. This is a form of ableism, internalized when a child feels lesser because they are not progressing like their peers. How to parent when your child is feeling the raw burn of dysphoria, of not being authentic, and fearing judgment, even when there’s no reason to do so? In Rue's short life, I gave them as much support as I could in adverse circumstances. When I saw them suffer, I would step in, try to intervene, and be the mama bear. Alas, Rue became embarrassed by me fighting for them. They thought it made them a failure. It didn’t.

I will never let go of my fierce fight for justice for Rue. The schools she attended let her down. I’ve filed multiple formal complaints with the Department of Education, and I’ve since made a submission to the Inquiry into Government Schools. I won't sit quietly as I await a response; I want answers and action. Now. Throughout Rue's short life, I’ve advocated for them with their childcare, teachers, endocrinologists, doctors, mental health professionals, and support workers. It became who I was. Where does that fight go now that she is gone? I'm not sure yet, but I won't let it go. Ever.

The night Rue died, a friend of hers called 000. Sadly, between 000 and the ambulance triage operators, they classified Rue as low priority. This resulted in a three-hour delay before an ambulance arrived. Too late. There is nothing worse than this: to stand with two emergency services professionals who cannot raise the dead. We instead awaited the Coroner’s, and I saw my baby let them go in a body bag. The stretcher holders paused as they carried Rue through our gate for the final time. I am forever marked. I will not let that go. I cannot.

I've recently learned that this is a pattern. Trans folk, who are at a much higher risk of self-harm, are often incorrectly triaged, resulting in a failure to provide appropriate emergency care. That’s not something I’ll let go. I will take action. I must.

Coroner Kate Despot is now reviewing Rue's case. There is a mountain of evidence from schools, health providers, Ambulance Victoria, and sixteen hours of interviews with me. I may have to wait months or years to receive Coroner Despot's findings. What will these be? Nothing will bring my child back, but will her findings help us take action against these systemic failures? I will ensure they do.

I have already taken action with Ambulance Victoria. I’ll be applying to receive the 000 calls. I won’t let this go. I will be working with Ambulance Victoria to improve their systems, which currently harm trans folks.

I’ll be very curious to see the schools’ evidence that they provided their best duty of care for my child; there will not be much, as they failed in this duty and caused Rue irreversible harm. I will take action against them for their lack of care.

These are personal actions I will take to achieve what I see as justice and accountability for Rue from the systems and individuals who harmed her when they were supposed to be equipping her for a rewarding adult life—a life that will now never be.

I am also taking broader political action. I am planning a fundraiser for trans youth mental health. I will do all I can to protect trans kids and improve how they interface with harmful systems. I can’t do it alone; I hope to attract and retain more allies among those who are capable of moving past gendered expectations and who can have open minds when evidence-based practices are recommended. I will be watching to ensure that real action is taken: real improvements, real protections—in hopes that fewer trans youth suffer and die, so that fewer bereaved parents feel the loss that I do, a loss from which I will never be able to let go.

So today, on this Trans Day of Visibility & Action, I ask everyone to think about what matters, let go of the vagaries, and connect with the push for trans safety. Trans rights are human rights. All children deserve to be allowed to enter into a fruitful adult life. No child should feel so hopeless that they sense no reprieve from their pain, to the extent that they choose violence against themselves—the ultimate self-harm.

I have never felt so strongly about any issue prior to now. Parenting Rue and my surviving child has forever changed me. I have had to let go of my child from this world. I will, however, never let go of my quest for change, acceptance, and safety for all individuals, regardless of gender status. I hope to attract more allies to this cause who, together, can become a wall of protection, care, and support for our trans youth. Please consider what you can do to help. We cannot continue as if nothing is happening here. Everyone can play a part. Please do."

@missyourue_remembrancepage ❤️

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